Thanks, as always, for the reviews. I decided not to leave everyone too long.

Chapter 21

From the start of the Claret case, Bobby felt increasing pressure from the outside and in. In spite of what other cops thought, he hated highly publicized cases. He wanted only to do his job and do it as well as he could. Publicity occasionally helped but nearly always hindered an investigation. Publicity revealed him to the world, and he hated that people he didn't know recognized him, that people with no knowledge about him or his life judged him. The publicity on this case pressed in on him. In spite of Ross and Cragen's efforts, the Brass weighed on him. Worst of all was the knowledge that the longer it took to solve the case, the more women who suffered and died. When he was in the hospital, when he drove to and from Carmel Ridge, when he was inside his nightmares, Bobby thought about his responsibility for the deaths of some of the victims and Mrs. Czechowski and the ordeal of Angela Corelli. As bad as the outside pressure, the pressure inside his head was even worse. At several points during the case—the discovery of the bodies, Stabler's accusation, his and Stabler's assault on the Claret farm, Mrs. Czechowski's disappearance, something it seemed every day—Bobby thought his head might explode. Sometimes he wished he could explode, that he could let go in a brief, terrible storm the way Stabler and Alex could. But Bobby feared if he let go, if he gave in, he might not recover.

All of this weighed on Bobby as he entered the interrogation room. He had to get a confession from Claret; had to get it to save Angela Corelli from the ordeal of testifying, to save the women Claret would certainly torture and murder if he got off, to save Claret, to save Bobby Goren from the demons inside his head. It was not, Bobby knew, the best state of mind to carry into an interrogation. He was grateful beyond words for Alex's presence; just being near her calmed him and cleared his mind of its dark thoughts. All of his demons shrank and ran from her.

He had always been a remarkably effective interrogator, even in his early days in the Army. His natural talents as a profiler hadn't been developed until Declan Gage recognized and nurtured them. His childhood's frequent upheavals and the resulting need to adapt to constant changes made him remarkably good at taking on roles and going undercover. But all of his talents, knowledge, and skills came together in the interrogation room. Bobby had to confess that he enjoyed the rush of interrogation—the rush that came before, during, and after the duel, at least when it was a duel. Sometimes it was the destruction of a human being, and those encounters left him as raw and empty and angry as when he tried to navigate through the minefields of his family. In many ways, the aftermath of a difficult interrogation was worse. A troubled twelve-year-old boy was allowed a few tears and a little rage. A big, grownup policeman wasn't. At times, Bobby felt as if he tore off small pieces of his soul and handed them to witnesses, perps, defense attorneys, prosecutors, the Brass, other cops—everyone but Alex. Alex tried to pick up the pieces, put them back together, and return them.

Bobby was certain of two things as he entered the grey room. He knew Claret; he knew the man's anger, his constant rage, his history. What Bobby didn't know was why he wasn't Claret. "Remember," Bobby thought as he changed his clothes. "This is the job…It is NOT an opportunity to deal with your problems…Focus…Be careful…" The other certainty was Alex. He knew she wanted to protect him, to keep from doing this. But she also believed that he could do this, which was more than Bobby was certain of. He wasn't entirely sure that this encounter would end well.

As the interrogation began, Bobby felt the usual adrenaline rush. He controlled and channeled it, and his mind became increasingly clear and focused. He peeled away Claret's defenses and illusions, and, as the interview continued, Claret confessed almost unknowingly. Claret's lack of guilt sickened Bobby, and Bobby realized he was nothing like the raging monster across the table.

Bobby was mildly concerned about Alex's presence in the room, but no more than his customary worries when they faced a dangerous criminal. He knew she could more than take care of herself, probably better than he could take care of himself. Claret had demonstrated no more than a passing interest in Alex, and, aside from her small stature, she bore no resemblance to any of his victims. Through the interrogation, Alex performed her usual excellent supporting role, heading off Claret's lawyer, handing files to him at exactly the right moment, and just being in the room. Bobby knew that not only would Alex protect Claret from him, she would protect Bobby from himself.

He was in control; he'd taken Claret down a dangerous road and the end was in sight. And then everything went horribly wrong. As Claret leaped to his feet, Bobby's mind was terribly clear. He realized he'd underestimated Claret's rage and strength, but he believed and hoped that rage and strength would be directed at him. Then, in ghastly slow motion, Bobby watched as Claret focused on Alex. If Bobby had been one hundred percent physically he would have responded. He would've blocked the table or jumped across it to stop Claret. But his bruised and battered body couldn't respond to his mind's frantic signals. Claret's lawyer was no help; the man sprawled helplessly in front of the door. A wave of pain swept through Bobby's body as the table slammed into his bruised and barely healed ribs and drove the air from his body.

"Alex…I've got to get to her…I can't let him hurt her…Alex…" Bobby desperately gathered his remaining strength and shoved furiously against the large table.

"Bobby…" Alex thought. "Where is he?" She struggled to move, but couldn't force air into her lungs. Claret's distorted face loomed over her. "I don't," she thought. "Want that to be the last thing I see…"

And he was gone. The table no longer trapped her against the wall, and Alex took a deep, painful breath. She staggered to her feet. The force of Bobby's shove against the table had thrown Claret to the floor. Bobby threw his body over the table and on top of the raging man. Claret's lawyer, screaming helplessly, remained in front of the door. Bobby and Claret wrestled on the floor, and Alex scrambled awkwardly over the upturned table. She heard other cops desperately trying to get into the room. Bobby had slammed his body into Claret, who was clearly not used to fighting someone roughly his own size. But Bobby was exhausted and hurt and filled with fear for Alex; he was clearly loosing the fight. Claret threw Bobby off and slammed his fist into the detective's face; he rose to his feet and cruelly kicked Bobby several times. His face contorted with pain, Bobby curled up to try to protect himself. Claret turned murderous eyes on Alex and started towards her, but Bobby grabbed one of his legs.

"No!" Bobby gasped. "Eames…Get away…Get out!"

Claret stumbled but recovered before he fell. "Stupid fucking cop!" he screamed and returned his attention to Bobby. He seized one of the chairs and swung it down on Bobby.

Alex searched desperately for a weapon; her eyes fell on Claret's lawyer's abandoned briefcase. She grabbed it and flung it with a resounding smack against Claret's head. Stunned, he dropped the chair and stumbled away from Bobby. Alex rushed to Claret and jammed her knee into his groin with as much strength and force as she could. He crumbled to the ground, his face white, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish. Alex grabbed the chair and stood over him. She raised the chair over her head.

"Bastard," she spat out. The idea that this monster, this thing, thought her kind, gentle, funny, sweet Bobby was anything like him filled her with a horrible, unreasoning rage.

"Alex." Olivia Benson's calm voice broke through the storm in Alex's mind. The other cops had finally broken through the door. "He's not worth it."

Alex growled.

Olivia changed her tactics. "Bobby," she said. "Bobby needs you."

Shaking, Alex sat down the chair. Uniforms swept past her to surround Claret. As she turned, Alex's eyes met Olivia's.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Olivia nodded, and Alex realized that only a few, brief, terrible moments had passed since the start of Claret's explosion.

Stabler and Huang knelt next to Bobby, who was propped up against the wall. He was very pale, with the rising bruises and blood on his face standing out in horrible contrast to the ghastly white of his skin.

"Easy, Goren." Stabler spoke gently to Bobby, who struggled to breath. An anxious looking Huang examined him.

"We need a bus right away," the psychiatrist said.

Stabler moved so that Alex could kneel next to Bobby. His dark eyes found her, and he feebly lifted his left hand. She grasped and held it; it was terribly cold. He opened his mouth and tried to speak.

"Easy," Alex said. She struggled not to show the fear she felt. "Don't move…"

"I…I'm sorry," Bobby murmured. "I…I pushed him…too far…" Alex could scarcely hear him.

"Bobby," she said firmly. "This is not your fault…You did your job…You did not do this…Claret did…"

He tried to speak again, but several coughs painfully wracked his body. Bright, crimson blood seeped from the corners of his mouth. Huang moved closer to him.

"His lung's collapsed," Huang said tensely. "Where's that ambulance?"

End Chapter 21